


Endgame

by blakefancier



Series: Young Lovers [46]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dementia, Father-Son Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 22:40:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2524286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Howard visits his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endgame

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a story that highlighted the conflicted relationship Howard has with his father. I think this works.

Howard checked himself in the mirror, adjusted his collar, brushed a bit of lint off the sleeve of his jacket, and then nodded in satisfaction. He headed downstairs to get his keys; Tony called to him from the couch.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s all right. I can handle this on my own. It’s pretty boring anyway, you know that.” 

“Okay,” Tony said, still looking conflicted.

Howard walked past Tony and ruffled his hair, pulling a protest from him. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” The smile he offered Tony as he departed felt fake, but it was all he had in him to give. 

The drive to his parents’ home didn’t take very long, which he always regretted. The butler—a man he didn’t recognize, God, maybe his mother was right, he didn’t visit often enough—let him in, but Howard didn’t go upstairs, not yet. Instead, he took a detour to the kitchen, where the smell of baking cookies made him smile.

“Please tell me you’re making cookies,” he said to the woman at the kitchen counter who was measuring out sugar.

Inga twirled around, giving a startled gasp. Her hair was mostly gray now and there were more wrinkles on her face, but her smile was warm and inviting. “Howard, I was wondering when you’d get here.”

He walked over and hugged her. “I got a bit of a late start, but you know I wouldn’t miss today.”

“I know,” she said, pulling back slightly and cupping his face. “You look good.”

“So do you.” 

Inga scoffed at him and playfully hit his shoulder. “You’re a smooth talker. Which is why I always bake you cookies when you come visit. You should do it more often.”

Howard nodded, but they both knew why he didn’t. Speaking of which… “Where’s my mother?”

“Her friends took her to a late lunch.”

For which Howard was extremely grateful. “Well, I should head up and see the old man.”

“I’ll bring up the cookies and some coffee in about an hour.” She touched his cheek again. “It really is good to see you.”

“You, too.” He wanted to linger, the kitchen was one of the few places where he’d found comfort when he was a child, but he knew he couldn’t put it off. His father grew tired quickly. The tension in his belly grew as he headed upstairs and by the time he reached his father’s room, he was clenching his jaw.

The nurse, Miriam, greeted him at the door. “Hello, Mr. Stark. “

“Hello, Miriam.” Howard offered her a smile. “How is he?”

“It’s a good day.” She looked over her shoulder at the room behind her. “He’s been waiting for you all morning.”

He nodded once and let out a little sigh. “I’ll keep the visit as short as I can,” he said, then headed into the room. 

His father was sitting by the window, staring out onto the grounds. Someone had set up the chessboard for them.

Howard walked over and sat, waiting for his father to acknowledge him. When it didn’t happen, he sighed. “Hey, Dad, you wanna get started? Why don’t you play Rubinstein today?” He turned the chessboard so he had the white pieces.

It was always the same game, year after year, Rotlewi versus Rubinstein, but the old man never seemed to tire of it. The one time Howard had tried to switch it up, the chessboard had ended up on the floor.

He often wondered why his father was so obsessed with this game in particular, but he’d never asked and his father was in no shape to answer now. So Howard kept the conversation light, talking about Tony, the business, what movies he’d seen lately.

Inga came in half way through the game with coffee and cookies. His dad couldn’t have coffee, but the cookies were all right. Howard gave him one, looking away so as not to see his shaking hands. After, Howard wiped the crumbs from his beard and they resumed their game. 

Howard resigned the game a half hour later and his father made a quiet tsking sound.

“You always lose,” his father said, voice soft and reedy. He sounded nothing like he did when Howard was a boy. There was no recognition in his father’s eyes and Howard felt a pang of sadness.

“I always do.” Howard set aside the empty plate and coffee cup, got to his feet and pressed a kiss to his father’s hair. “Happy Birthday, Dad.” Then even softer, “I love you.”

Inga was waiting for him downstairs, a box of cookies in her hand. “Visit soon,” she said.

“I’ll try.” They both knew he wouldn’t. He hated this house, hated the memories, even if he couldn’t quite hate his parents. 

When he got to his car, he sat there, staring at his hands until they stopped shaking.


End file.
